


Nice To Meet You, Pinocchio

by sabershadowkat



Series: I Hated You Because... [1]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 19:30:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5017513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabershadowkat/pseuds/sabershadowkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angel and Spike have a...ahem...little problem.<br/>Season 4/Angel Implied</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nice To Meet You, Pinocchio

**Author's Note:**

> Quotes in order: Gina Bellin, Charles Henrey Mackintosh, Maxwell Maltz.  
> Lyric by: Steppenwolf  
> This series was written while Angel was still eluded to be Spike's sire and prior to season 4 airing.

Nice To Meet You, Pinocchio

 

#####  [by Saber ShadowKitten](mailto:daschus@attbi.com)  
I Hated You Because... 1

 

 

  
  


**Part One**

 

  
  


"This is all your bloody fault."   
  


" _My_  fault?!" Angel growled at Spike. "How the hell can this be my fault, Mr. Let's-Open-The-Box-That-Clearly-Says-'Do-Not-Open'?!"   
  


"If you hadn't come back, I wouldn't have had to go out with you," Spike growled right back. "But nooo, Mr. I-Love-The-Slayer, So-I'm-Going-To-Rip-Her-Heart-Out had to come back to Sunnyhell."   
  


"What does Buffy have to do with you opening the box?"   
  


"Everything!" Spike yelled. "You left her, I got stuck watching her back because of it, you came back, she doesn't want to see you, I get stuck helping you instead of her, and now we're SIX INCHES TALL!"   
  


"Actually, I'm six inches tall," Angel smirked. "You're half-an-inch shorter."   
  


"Sod off," Spike said, glaring up at his sire.   
  


The night was not going well for the two vampires. Angel had returned to Sunnydale in search of a relic that he needed to aid him in his fight against a certain demon in Los Angeles. Since Buffy had not wanted to see him, Spike had been unanimously elected to go help his sire. Of course, the only voter had been the Slayer, but the blond vampire had an annoying tendency to want to avoid seeing her unhappy.   
  


The two former enemies had been working together for over a year, fighting the forces of darkness that seemed to converge on Sunnydale. At first, Spike had been reluctant to let himself really get involved, other than making sure Buffy didn't die; but after awhile, he'd immersed himself more and more in her life and her friends lives until he became an honorary member of the 'Slayerettes.' A semi-evil member, but a member none-the-less. And he'd been ridiculously happy ever since.   
  


Until tonight, when he'd been forced to go help the one vampire that set his canines on edge and made him want to break his self-imposed 'no killing the good guys' policy. He'd dealt with Angel several times over the past year, but it was always through Cordelia and always for a short period of time. He was glad the Slayer had finally moved on with her life after his sire had crushed her heart, but it still pained her to see him and dredge up the old 'what might have been' syndrome. He knew the feeling.   
  


Angel wasn't too happy about working with Spike, either. He hated the fact that his childe was closer to Buffy than he'd ever been. Though it was only in a friendship capacity, like he shared with Cordelia, it still irked him to no end. Spike was the one to hold her when she cried, to see her smile, to watch her fight, to be there for her. He had been accepted by Buffy's friends even though he didn't have a soul, only a conscience and a hefty dose of blackmail over him.   
  


The past year had been hard on Angel. He'd moved to a new city, fought for people's souls on a nightly basis, put up with an annoying guardian demon named Doyle, put up with an equally annoying young woman named Cordelia, and missed Buffy with every fiber of his undead being. To top it all off, when he'd learned that it was Spike who had taken his place watching Buffy's back, he couldn't help the feeling of relief that had washed over him. He knew that his childe would protect Buffy with his life, because that was the type of man he was, demon or not.   
  


However, Spike was still impatient and aggravating and had the attention span of a five-year-old. When he had seen the box, his first impulse was to open it, despite the warnings easily visible. Angel had tried to stop him, but stopping Spike from doing something was like telling that same five-year-old no -- he'd pout and whine and would be exceedingly irritating until a yes was given, or he'd do it anyway.   
  


Spike did it anyway, and now they were six inches tall.   
  


Well, six inches and five and a half inches, respectively. Spike had always been on the short side.   
  


"Instead of arguing over whose fault it is," Angel said, forcing himself to calm down. "Let's try to figure out how to get back to normal."   
  


"I know whose fault it is -- yours," Spike stated. Angel glared at him. "But I'm all for the getting back to normal part."   
  


The both looked up...and up...and up to where the box was sitting on a stone pedestal that jutted out of the mausoleum wall. Then they looked at each other. "Where's Alice when you need her?" Angel said.   
  


"I was wondering where the white rabbit was, myself," Spike replied. He returned his gaze to the wall before them. "I suppose we could climb the bloody thing."   
  


"But what good will it do once we get up there?" Angel said.   
  


"There's bound to be some sort of instructions on the soddin' box," the blond vampire answered.   
  


"You mean, for when morons like you open it?" Angel asked wryly.   
  


"Angel, go fuck yourself," Spike replied. "Oh wait, that's all you can do, isn't it?"   
  


The ensouled vampire closed his eyes and counted to ten. Then he kept them closed and counted to another ten. When he opened them again, he saw that Spike was making his way up the wall, using the cracks in the rocks as hand and footholds. "You do realize that once you're up there, you have to come back down?"   
  


"No shit, Sherlock," Spike said, still moving upwards.   
  


With a sigh, Angel began to climb the wall as well.   
  


Luckily, their vampiric strength had stayed with them despite their being shrunk to the size of Smurfs. They rapidly maneuvered from crack to crack, ascending the sheer face of the tomb until they reached the pedestal. Once there, the box looked to be the size of a log cabin with its roof half-off.   
  


The wooden box resembled a small chest, with rusty metal handles and hinges. Words had been carved into the dark cedar, worn with age and weathering. The lid was raised, from when Spike had opened it, and the red glow that had shot from within to encompass both vampires had disappeared.   
  


There were several languages on the box, and Angel was able to translate a smattering of the words. Mostly the ones that read 'Do Not Open.'   
  


"This looks like a couple of names," Angel pointed out, tracing the letters with his fingers. "Glooskap, maybe? And possibly Summer."   
  


"The Queen of the Elves of Light?" Spike said, frowning. "I thought Glooskap had a moosehide, not a box."   
  


Angel looked at Spike in surprise. "You recognize these names?"   
  


"You weren't the only one who liked to read, Angelus," Spike replied.   
  


"Yeah, but I could sit still for more than ten minutes," Angel said. "You couldn't."   
  


"You know, it's a long way down from here," Spike told Angel, taking a threatening step closer to his sire. "And I always wondered if you were the type of Angel that could fly."   
  


Angel looked cooly at his childe. "Are you threatening me?"   
  


"As the Slayer would say -- duh," Spike replied, rolling his eyes.   
  


Angel tried not to laugh, he really did, but it happened anyway. Here they were, together the most vicious vampires in the past two centuries, six inches tall and standing on a pedestal next to the box that had shrunk them, acting like juveniles. It reminded him of the old days.   
  


"What are you laughing at?" Spike asked, narrowing his eyes.   
  


"You...me...us," Angel said, gesturing around them. "Look at us. I feel like one of the Wee Folks."   
  


"You look like a faerie, too," Spike said with a smirk.   
  


"I think you're losing your touch, Spike. That was pathetic," Angel said. "Maybe your brain shrunk to nothing when the light hit us."   
  


"You're just a regular old comedian tonight," the blond vampire scowled. He started to examine the box once again. "I don't think this is going to tell us anything."   
  


"At least untranslated," Angel said, returning to the problem at hand. That was how it used to be between them. They'd work on something together -- usually a plan of violence and death - take a break to fight and cajole one another, then go right back to work without difficulty. "I hate to say this, but I think we're stuck like this for now."   
  


Spike grumbled an agreement, then dug out his cigarettes and lighter before sitting down. He leaned against the box and lit up. Angel joined him a moment later and the two sat in companionable silence until the cigarette was burned down to the filter.   
  


"Now what?" Spike asked, stubbing the cigarette out on the stone beside him.   
  


"We have a choice," Angel replied, having thought about it during the silence. "We can either stay here until someone comes looking for us..."   
  


"And neither of us told anyone where we were going," Spike said.   
  


"...Or we can go to whoever's house is the closest for help," Angel finished, ignoring the interruption.   
  


"Well, you can probably guess my answer," the blond said, standing. He grinned down at Angel. "I've never been able to sit still for more than ten minutes, anyway." 

 

  
  


**Part Two**  

 

  
  


"At this rate, it's going to take weeks to get there," Spike complained as they plodded through the grass. Each blade was like a tree to the vampires and they had to force their way through the green fibers.   
  


"How far do you think it is to Buffy's?" Angel asked, having deduced that hers was the closest house to the cemetery they were in.   
  


"About a quarter kilometer, give or take," he replied.   
  


"Eighth of a mile," Angel sighed. "Our stride is roughly two inches, and there are 5,280 feet in a mile, which makes it..." He did a quick calculation in his head. "Roughly 660 feet to Buffy's house. Multiply that by twelve and you have..."   
  


"A bloody headache," Spike growled. "Now shut up and keep walking, you git."   
  


They walked in silence as Angel kept doing calculations in his head. He had gotten good at it the year after he'd gotten out of hell. What better way to get rid of an erection than math?   
  


"Seven hours," Angel said a few minutes later.   
  


"What?" Spike asked, glancing over his shoulder at his sire.   
  


"As the crow flies, it should take us about seven hours to get to Buffy's," he replied.   
  


"The sun will be up in less than two," Spike informed him.   
  


"So it'll take a little longer then," Angel shrugged.   
  


Spike ground his teeth together. "What do we do for shelter, Oh Great Mathematician?"   
  


"Rocks, maybe," Angel said. "Hole in something, I don't know. We'll stop when we find somewhere."   
  


"Before or after the sun turns us into mini piles of ash?"   
  


*****

  
  


A half hour before dawn, they managed to find shelter in an old knocked-over twelve-inch flower pot. Pushing as much dirt out as they could, the two vampires crawled over the sod and into the recesses of the faded ceramic. Tired, cranky and hungry, neither one was too jovial in sharing such close quarters.   
  


"It's not like we haven't done this before, Spike," Angel sighed, trying to get comfortable on the dirt. Spike was not helping matters. The blond kept elbowing or kicking him as he continued to toss and turn in order to find his own comfortable position.   
  


"First of all, it's been over a hundred bloody years," Spike said, flipping onto his back. "Second, we were both too pissed to see straight to get us home and third, we were shagging like a couple of sex-starved nutters back then. So shut your hole and let me alone."   
  


Angel managed to wait for five seconds of Spike's moving around before he growled, "Hold still."   
  


"Bugger off," Spike replied.   
  


In response, Angel turned on his side, grabbed Spike around the waist and forcibly pulled the younger vampire against him. "Stop. Moving. And. Go. To. Sleep," he ground out.   
  


"Let go of me, you pillock!" Spike snarled.   
  


"No," Angel growled, tightening his hold.   
  


"I'm going to hurt you," he stated.   
  


"Do it later," Angel told Spike. "Right now -- SLEEP."   
  


"Wanker."   
  


"Shut up, Spike."   
  


"Make me."   
  


Angel closed his eyes and started counting backwards from one hundred. By the time he reached forty-three, Spike was asleep. Relaxing his hold, the dark-haired vampire sighed, turned onto his back, then let himself follow into peaceful oblivion.   
  


*****

 

Angel woke up to the feeling of someone pressed up against him. Opening his eyes into slits, he was surprised to find Spike curled up against him, his blond head resting on his chest, one arm thrown across his waist and his leg half over Angel's left one. Memories flooded him of evenings when he'd woken up in this exact position, usually after a previous night full of sex, and for once, he did not feel an ounce of remorse or guilt in association with those thoughts. He kept still, just allowing his mind to wander back in time, as Spike continued to sleep.   
  


He did have fun with the blond man beside him, nights of teaching and playing and enjoying immortal life. Sometimes he'd share Spike with Darla, other times he'd keep his childe to himself. He'd been known as Will back then, with shoulder-length dark hair and flashing blue eyes that were still young and naive.   
  


For decades, it was the two of them toying with the mortal world. Sure, he'd had others he'd created that he enjoyed, but none of them had managed to catch his attention as much as Will. Whether it was because of his beauty, his wit or his mind, Angel never knew, and for some reason, he never cared to figure it out. He'd been content to have a companion who was as close to his equal as anyone could ever get.   
  


Then a young woman, whose purity combined with her visions, had captured Angel's eye. For months, he worked on destroying her mind. Finally, he'd turned her and began spending his time cultivated her psychic talent, all the while teaching her to be as vicious as he.   
  


He remembered that, somewhere along the line, Will had become Spike. The memories of those years, however, seemed to be more centered around Drusilla. He frowned, trying to discern why that was so, but Spike stirred against him, breaking into his thoughts.   
  


Angel feigned sleep. He wanted to give Spike a chance to move without embarrassment, but he was also curious as to how the blond would react.   
  


Spike slowly became aware of the world around him as he awoke. First thing in the evening was an extremely vulnerable time for him, when he was at his most unaware. Even in sleep, his defenses were ready to kick in at the slightest threat, but those minutes between unconsciousness and wakefulness was when he was especially susceptible.   
  


It took him a few moments to register the fact that he was curled against someone and even longer for him to realize the person was his sire. He froze, trying to discern whether Angel was awake or not. When he didn't move, Spike relaxed and allowed himself to doze a little longer. It had been a long time since he'd been this comfortable.   
  


Eventually, he sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He looked out into the early twilight, then crawled over Angel and out of the flowerpot. After he'd smoked a cigarette, his brain started to function once again, and he felt semi-peeved at his unconscious behavior. He'd promised himself long ago not to be in that position again, not after all the hurt he'd gone through.   
  


Pushing his thoughts aside, he grabbed a handful of potting soil and lobbed it at the still figure of Angel. "Hey poofwad, rise and shine."   
  


*****

  
  


"I am  _not_  going to emph-," Spike was cut off abruptly when Angel clamped a hand over his mouth.   
  


"Shut up," Angel hissed. "You'll scare it away."   
  


Spike yanked Angel's hand away from his mouth, then hissed back, "I'm not going to eat a fly for dinner!"   
  


"Blood is blood," Angel said, holding the toothpick he'd found like a spear.   
  


"Yeah, but flies eat  _shit_  and other disgusting stuff," Spike said.   
  


"Then starve," he replied, circling around where the bug had landed.   
  


The fly was roughly the size of a large Schnauzer to the six-inch duo. It was sitting on the side of a blade of grass, not moving. Angel thought one of its wings were torn, preventing it from flying. He saw Spike make a face, then flank the insect, moving opposite him in a well-practiced move from times long past.   
  


They struck as one, Spike darting forward to bash the fly in its hard, multi-faceted eyes as Angel leapt from behind and drove the make-shift spear behind what conceivably was the fly's neck. It shuddered and tried to take off, but Angel held fast, and a loud, high-pitched whine filled the air.   
  


Spike had to jump out of the way when the fly starting spiting something. One unlucky shot hit his hand, and he growled in pain as the acidic residue burned his skin. He thrust his hand in the dirt, using it as an abrasive to remove the slimy substance.   
  


Eventually, the noise stopped and the fly was still. Angel glanced over at Spike, noticing his grimace of pain. "You ok?"   
  


"I'm ducky," Spike growled at him.   
  


Angel sighed, then picked up the fly by the toothpick like a shish-ka-bob. He walked over and handed it to Spike, offering his childe first blood, just like he used to do when they hunted together.   
  


"This is bloody ridiculous," Spike grumbled, taking the fly and searching for a soft spot on its body.   
  


"What did you think we were going to do, bite people's ankles?" Angel asked mockingly.   
  


Spike scowled at the dark-haired vampire, then morphed and sunk his fangs into the bug. He wanted to be childish and drain it, but refrained himself from doing so -- barely.   
  


Angel waited patiently, wondering if he was going to have to hunt again, when Spike withdrew and held out the insect. He almost didn't take it, because he was too fascinated with the smear of blood around his childe's mouth. Memories slammed into him, along with physical reactions to those memories.   
  


He remembered the nights Spike would be particularly violent to their victim, drenching himself in their blood as he tore out their intestines or ripped their throats out with his fangs. Then, right there in the alley or wherever the victim had been taken, Angel would lick him clean before he'd take Spike hard and fast, the younger vampire spilling himself onto the rough street under him from Angel's hand.   
  


Angel knew he should feel guilty about those times, but at that moment, all he felt was intense desire. Gritting his teeth together, he took the fly and turned away from Spike.   
  


Spike let his human mask descend over his features and arched a brow in Angel's direction when his sire turned away from him. Wiping his mouth absently on the back of his sleeve, he silently chuckled at the thought that the dark-haired vampire didn't want him to watch him feed. They'd hunted together for close to a hundred years, so it wasn't as if he hadn't seen it before.   
  


"How much further do you think?" he asked, as Angel finished and dropped the fly to the ground, then pulled the toothpick free.   
  


"A couple hours, give or take," Angel replied. He turned and gestured in the direction they were to head. "We should be to the street, soon. It'll be easier traveling, but we won't have the cover."   
  


"Then let's be off," Spike said. "The sooner we get there, the sooner I can get the taste of fly out of my mouth."   
  


*****

  
  


"I hate you."   
  


"What else is new?" Angel commented, looking first one way, then the other up the long street they had to cross.   
  


"This time I mean it," Spike said. Angel rolled his eyes as the blond continued. "If it wasn't for you, I could be at the dorm watching the Simpson's marathon, which started ten minutes ago."   
  


"The Simpson's?" Angel asked, smirking at him.   
  


"Bugger off," he scowled. "At least I do things other than mope around like a friggin' lost puppy."   
  


"And here I thought I was closer to a full grown dog," Angel said. "Shall we? Or would you rather stand here and whine a little longer?"   
  


"I'd rather stick my hand down your throat and rip your voice-box out," Spike told him.   
  


"You can do that later," he replied. "Right now, we're crossing the street."   
  


Angel started to cross in a light jog, keeping his eyes peeled for cars coming in either direction. He heard Spike swear and then the echoing of footfalls as the blond caught up to him. They were three-quarters of the way across when an automobile turned the corner on the same side of the street they were on.   
  


"Uh, Gel-head, we're about to be roadkill," Spike said, his eyes darting around, looking for safety.   
  


"I see it," Angel replied, cursing under his non-existent breath. He judged the distance between where they were and the curb, then glanced at the car bearing down on them at a rapid rate. They couldn't make it. His arm shot out and he stopped Spike. "Freeze. Wait until we see where the tire is, then get out of the way."   
  


"Bloody hell," Spike cursed, watching as the car came closer and closer. "I hate you."   
  


"NOW!" Angel yelled, sprinting to his left out of the path of the tire. The car had to be going only twenty miles per hour, but it was as fast as an airplane to the six inch vampire. The wind from the vehicle hit him full force, sending him flying forwards. He hit the pavement hard and skid several inches -- which seemed like feet for him - scraping his palms and knees under the pants he was wearing.   
  


He pushed himself to his feet, wincing as the material of his pants rubbed against the abrasions. Turning, he saw Spike stalking towards him, holding his arm and cursing up a blue streak.   
  


"Angel, you stupid motherfucking goddamned arsehole!" Spike yelled. "I am going to break every single fucking bone in your body, then bathe you in holy water until all your fucking skin falls off!"   
  


"What's wrong?" Angel said, ignoring his childe's tantrum and focusing on his arm.   
  


"It's bloody dislocated, that's what's wrong, you fucking pillock!" Spike snarled. "Why couldn't you just stay out of my fucking unlife!"   
  


Angel reached out to fix it, but Spike flinched away. "Do you want it to stay like that or not?" he asked, grabbing the blond tightly on the shoulder.   
  


"Ow!" Spike yelled. "That fucking hurts!"   
  


"Hold still," Angel told him, positioning his hands. With a hard wrench, he popped the joint back in its socket to Spike's growling and cursing. "There, you big baby."   
  


"Fuck off!" he spat, then stormed away.   
  


Angel sighed and rubbed his forehead, wondering if it was still pueracide even if Spike wasn't his childe by birth.   
  
  


 

 

**Part Three**

 

  
  


Spike and Angel exchanged glances, then looked back up at the doorbell. They had made the remainder of the trek to the Summers' residence in silence, each in their own thoughts about getting back to normal so they could escape each other.   
  


"I can make it," Spike said confidently, eyeing the window frame.   
  


"Ok," Angel said, knowing that the younger vampire would do so easily. He was always the risk-taker of the duo, having too much energy to  _not_  do extreme things such as climbing walls or stealing Miss Edith.   
  


"Scootch down," Spike instructed. When Angel did, he climbed up on his sire's shoulders, then pulled himself up onto the low window ledge. He examined the frame where it met the glass pane once more, then began to rapidly ascend it, finding invisible toe and finger-holds. When he was slightly above the doorbell, he carefully maneuvered around the edge of the frame to the molding. Balancing on the toes of his one foot and holding onto the non-existent cracks with his fingers, he brought his left leg back and kicked the bell.   
  


Angel stood in front of the door, prepared to run inside the moment it opened, as he kept a slightly-worried eye on Spike. Which was why he didn't see the cat until it dashed onto the porch and pounced on him. He let out a scram of pain as sharp claws rasped against him, tearing into his clothes and leaving shallow grooves along his skin. He'd lost the toothpick when the car had blown him over, and was basically defenseless against the animal that seemed to be as big as a house.   
  


"ANGELUS!" Spike yelled when he saw the cat attack. Despite his own safety, the younger vampire immediately threw himself off the wall, twisting in the air as he fell towards the feline. He landed right on the cat's back, the three feet having felt like three miles when he connected.   
  


The cat let out a screech and his head came around to bite at the small figure clinging to his fur. Spike scrambled up the ridged back and out of reach of the cat's teeth. The animal spun in circles, trying to throw him off, hissing loudly. He suddenly sat down and raised his back leg to scratch the tiny vampire off.   
  


Spike buried his head into the thick fur, curling his knees up under him, making as small a target as possible. The first swipe of the claws almost sent him tumbling to the ground, but he tightened his hold. He wanted to give Angel time to get to safety.   
  


Angel was pressed against the door when it opened, and he fell backwards onto the hardwood floor. Joyce was standing there, although he mostly saw her pants and shoes, and he forced himself to his feet. He lurched over to her as she began to tell the cat to shoo, her voice sounding like thunder.   
  


Spike's felt like his back was raw and bleeding. His leather duster protected him from the cats nails ripping him open, but the repeated scratching still dug into his skin. One lucky swipe had cut into the back of his neck, the oils from the claws seeping into the wound, sending flames of pain through his system.   
  


Joyce suddenly let out a yell as Angel dug his fingernails into her skin exposed by her shoe. He jumped back out of the way when she shook her foot, then waved his arms in the air and screamed when she looked down. "JOYCE! JOYCE! DOWN HERE! JOYCE!"   
  


"Oh my god," Joyce gasped when she saw the little person waving his arms in the air. She crouched down, ready to bolt if it attacked, then gasped again when she recognized who it was. "Angel?"   
  


"Yeah, it's me!" he continued to yell. "Get Spike!"   
  


"Angel, I can't hear you," Joyce said. "The cat is making too much...oh god. Is Buffy with you?" She went forward on her knees and grabbed the cat around the middle, yanking it into the house. It hissed and clawed at her, but she held fast as she peered outside, hoping not to see her daughter's small mauled body.   
  


Spike felt himself suddenly being lifted and the clawing stop. Raising his head, he found himself surrounded by pink. He quickly deduced that someone was holding the cat, and he used that opportunity to get off the animal. He pushed to his feet and launched himself towards the flash of hardwood floor he saw.   
  


Angel flinched when Spike hit the floor, his body making a hard slap against the wood. Dashing to his side, he bent over the unconscious blond and checked for serious injuries. "Spike, wake up," he said, his hand coming away bloody when he ran it over the back of Spike's neck.   
  


Joyce looked down and saw the six inch Angel kneeling over Spike. "Is Buffy with you?" she asked again, still holding the cat tightly.   
  


Angel looked up at the booming voice and shook his head no. He gestured to himself and Spike, indicating it was just them as he yelled the same. She must have understood, because she threw the cat out the door and went to close it. Angel stood and dragged Spike away from the entry so she could.   
  


"Great, now what?" Joyce asked herself. "Ok, deep breath. Angel and Spike are the size of the Borrowers. Spike looks injured. First, I should get them off the floor so I don't step on them. Then I'll call Buffy and if I can't reach her, Rupert."   
  


Angel heard Joyce speaking, but he was too busy trying to wake Spike to listen to her. The blond let out a low moan what seemed like an eternity later.   
  


"That was fun," Spike muttered, as he came back to consciousness. He pried his eyes open and saw Angel staring worriedly down at him. He gave his sire a lopsided grin, ignoring the pain thrumming in his body. "Hi poopsy. Miss me?"   
  


Angel didn't know whether to kiss Spike or throttle him. "About as much as being soulless," he replied. "Why did you do that?"   
  


"Why wouldn't I?" he said, then groaned as he sat up with Angel's help. "Bloody 'ell, I 'urt like a dry buggerin'."   
  


A bright green folder appeared on the ground beside them, startling both vampires. Their moans of pain echoed each other from the sudden movement. Angel looked up at Joyce, who was holding one end of the folder, and nodded in understanding. "Everyone onto the folder," he said, helping Spike to his feet.   
  


"You know what I could use right now?" Spike said as he half-walked, was half-dragged onto the green surface. "A nice hippie. LSD-laced blood would make this hell much nicer."   
  


"I'll order out," Angel joked dryly. The folder was carefully raised after he and Spike sat down and they were carried towards the kitchen.   
  


"'Why don't you come with me, little girl, on a magic carpet ride,'" Spike sang off-key to himself. He shuddered as a bolt of pain lanced through him. "Fuck."   
  


"Almost there," Angel told him, checking his own injuries. The scratches were shallow and barely bleeding. With rest and some blood, he'd be healed in no time. Glancing at the back of Spike's neck, he was worried that it would take a lot more than that for his childe.   
  


The folder was gently set down on the island counter-top in the kitchen. Joyce took the first aid kit off the top of the refrigerator and put it on the counter as well. "I don't know if this will help," she said, opening the box.   
  


Angel stood and went over to the kit, the side of it waist-high to him. He glanced at the large objects inside and scratched his head, wondering how he was going to use them. "Do you think you can wait to get bandaged up?" he asked Spike.   
  


"I don't mind bleeding to death," Spike replied sarcastically, pressing his hand to the back of his neck.   
  


Joyce, meanwhile, dialed Buffy's dorm room number and waited for her daughter to answer. "Hello?" Buffy said upon answering the phone.   
  


"Buffy?"   
  


"Mom, what's up?" Buffy asked.   
  


"There's a...small problem," Joyce replied, glancing at the two vampires. "Very small."   
  
  


 

 

**Part Four**

 

 

 

  
  


 

"Do you ever miss having a reflection?" Spike asked, touching the surface of the mirror in front of him. He and Angel had been brought up to Buffy's bedroom once the Slayer had arrived and were standing on the dresser, waiting for her to return.   
  


 

"I guess I never really think about it," Angel replied, studying Spike's bandaged profile.   
  


 

"One time, around forty years ago," Spike began, lightly running his fingers over the glass. "Drusilla and I were out hunting when we came upon this dance school. She had heard the music coming from the open windows and said it was calling to her."   
  


 

Angel watched the ghost of a smile play on his childe's face from his memories. "It was a public building, so we were able to go inside," Spike continued. "That was the first time I actually wished I still had a reflection."   
  


 

"What happened?" Angel asked, curious.   
  


 

"There was a long mirror that ran the length of the room, and the few couples in the place were dancing in front of it. Cor, Angel, their movements were so...erotic, with their reflections mimicking them...," he trailed off, staring sightlessly at the mirror where his reflection should have been.   
  


 

Spike shook off the memory and smirked at Angel. "Anyway, we killed the people there and danced to the music on the phonograph until the album ended, then left."   
  


 

Angel rolled his eyes as Buffy entered the bedroom, carrying a white, plastic tape recorder with a microphone. She set it down on the dresser next to them and turned it on. "This should work," she said.   
  


 

"Slayer, at this size, did you know you have really big tmmpsh-" Spike started to say into the microphone, but was cut off by Angel's hand for the second time that night.   
  


 

"You sound like Mickey Mouse," Buffy said, folding her arms over her chest as she glared at the pint-sized vampire.   
  


 

"Sorry, Buffy," Angel said into the mic, wiping his hand on his pants after Spike licked it. "You can understand us, though?"   
  


 

"Yes," she replied, then grinned. "God, this is so weird. You guys are tiny!"   
  


 

"Spike's fault," Angel said.   
  


 

"Is not," Spike growled.   
  


 

"Who opened the box?"   
  


 

"Who came back to Sunnyhell?"   
  


 

"Who can't control his impulses?"   
  


 

"Who made me?"   
  


 

"Enough, you two!" Buffy stated. "How do you expect me to get you un-shrunk if you keep arguing over whose fault it is?"   
  


 

"It's his fault," Spike grumbled.   
  


 

"Spike, shut up," Buffy said. "Angel, tell me what happened."   
  


 

"The intelligent one here," the dark-haired vampire gestured to Spike. Spike glared at him, but said nothing. "Opened a box that he shouldn't have. We got hit by a reddish light, then ended up six inches tall."   
  


 

"Where at?" she asked.   
  


 

"Clearview cemetery," Angel replied. "In one of the mausoleums."   
  


 

"Ok, I'll go see if I can find it," Buffy said. "But in the meantime, the sun's going to be up in a few."   
  


 

"And I'm hungry," Spike stated. "All I had to eat was  _fly_."   
  


 

"Um, eew," she said. "That's gross."   
  


 

"Tell that to Jeff Goldblum here," the blond vampire said, gesturing to Angel.   
  


 

"You didn't have to...never mind," Angel sighed. "Buffy, if you can get some blood for us and find something small enough to put it in..."   
  


 

"No sweat," she replied. "And I think I have the perfect place for you guys for the day."   
  


 

*****

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"The walls are purple," Spike commented. "The carpet is pink and the bedspread is gold. What type of color scheme was the Slayer trying to follow here?"   
  


 

Angel gave Spike a strange look. "When did you turn into Martha Stewart?"   
  


 

"Go find your own room, peaches," Spike told him. "This one's mine."   
  


 

Buffy had, indeed, the perfect place for the two six-inch vampires -- her old dollhouse. She had carried it down from the attic and quickly cleaned it and dug out the furniture, then set it up in her room on the bed. A blanket over the front blocked any sun that crept through her closed shades.   
  


 

The dollhouse itself was huge, with three floors and a wrap-around porch. On the main floor, there was a kitchen, dining room, living room, and a study. The second floor held three bedrooms and a fake bathroom, and the third was a large, open room. The house was complete with carpeting, furniture and lights that worked on an old train transformer.   
  


 

The Slayer had left a short while ago, promising to return with blood and a few other things. Both vampires were beat, their long trek and multiple injuries taking their toll. Angel tiredly went into another bedroom and stripped down to his boxers, then laid back on the double bed. He was happy to find that it was pretty comfortable for a piece of dollhouse furniture.   
  


 

Putting his arms behind his head, his thoughts drifted to the cat and what Spike had said. "What did he mean, 'why wouldn't I'?" Angel said to himself.   
  


 

In the other bedroom, Spike was also in a similar position, although he was backwards on the bed and his feet were propped up against the wall above the headboard. The gold bedspread was draped across his lap, not wanting to give the Slayer an eyeful when she returned. Six inches tall or not, he still wasn't considered 'small.'   
  


 

As he lay there, images of the cat pouncing on his sire ran through his mind, making him tense and uncomfortable. He hated when his feelings overrode his control, causing him to act or say things he didn't want known. It was bad enough that the Slayer had gotten to relax around her and her friends, or the fact that she'd been there when he'd broken down and blubbered over Drusilla like a baby. But then she'd let him beat her up, and he felt better.   
  


 

However, he couldn't very well go into the other bedroom and rough up his sire At least, not with his head pounding and his body aching like it did. Instead he was stuck knowing that he'd acted on feelings long buried in the deepest recesses of his heart and practically admitted those feelings to Angel. "Bloody hell," he cursed quietly, putting an arm over his eyes. He'd have to hope that the dark-haired vampire would forget about it come evening.   
  


 

*****

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Angel burst out laughing, falling down into the chair at the kitchen table, when he saw Spike. Buffy had gone out and bought them some doll clothes to change into, not knowing how long they'd be shrunk. The clothes were a little loose on Angel, but they swam on Spike's leaner and shorter form.   
  


 

"Shut up and help me, pillock," Spike growled at him, holding the legs of the too long pants up as he shuffled into the room. At least his belt had shrunk with him, which was the only reason the pants were staying up where they belonged.   
  


 

Angel pressed his lips together, trying to squash his laughter at his childe's expense. He stood up and gestured to the chair he'd abandoned. "Climb up," he instructed, then sniggered. "Don't trip."   
  


 

"Wanker," the blond scowled, climbing up onto the chair. He glared down at the top of Angel's head as the older vampire crouched and began rolling up his pants legs. He had tried to do it himself, but after three frustrating minutes, he figured since it was Angel's fault they were six inches tall, he should help him. "Did the Slayer say if she found the box?"   
  


 

"Yeah," Angel replied. "Rupert is trying to translate the writing."   
  


 

"Wonder if Riley is helping," Spike said, thinking out loud.   
  


 

"Who?" Angel asked, looking up at Spike.   
  


 

A smirk crossed the younger vampire's face. "You don't know about Riley? He's Buffy's sort-of new beau."   
  


 

Angel tensed and returned his eyes to his task. "Really? What's he like?"   
  


 

"He's really...swell," Spike replied, silently snickering at his sire's discomfort. "I keep expecting Jimmy Olsen to come running around the corner, though."   
  


 

"Well, as long as she's happy," Angel shrugged. "That's all that matters to me."   
  


 

"Cor, you friggin' prick," Spike said, jumping off the chair as Angel stood. He glared up at his sire. "Are you really such an unfeeling bastard? Oh wait, I already know the fucking answer to that."   
  


 

"Woah, Spike," Angel put up his hands in defense. "What's with the hostility?"   
  


 

"You bloody figure it out," Spike said, then stalked out of the room and up the stairs.   
  


 

"Boy, someone sure has a SHORT temper today!" Angel called after him.   
  


 

"SOD OFF!"   
  


 

*****

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Spike had climbed up to the roof of the dollhouse, wanting to be as far away from his sire as possible. He'd done it again, allowed his emotions to control him and ended up saying things he didn't want said. The forced togetherness, even though it had only been two nights, was getting to him. He really wished Angel would go back to Los Angeles.   
  


 

"Hi...uh...Spike," Buffy's loud voice greeted as she came into the bedroom, after she made sure which vampire it was. "How do the clothes fit?"   
  


 

"Swimmingly," Spike dead-panned. Of course, she couldn't hear him, seeing as the microphone was on the other side of the room.   
  


 

"I just came to tell you guys no luck yet," she said, moving around to the back of the dollhouse. "And to bring you some dinner and something to do." She opened a paper bag and pulled out a three-inch high container of blood, followed by a bunch of tiny gift books and set them in the kitchen.   
  


 

"Thanks, Buffy," Angel told her from inside the house, despite that whole not-hearing him thing.   
  


 

"Well, I can't stay," she said, opening the lid on the blood. "Patrol and all. I'll check on you guys in the morning."   
  


 

Spike chuckled as the Slayer sent him a smile, then bounced out of the room. He knew exactly why she hadn't stuck around. She had a date with Riley  _and_  she didn't want to be around Angel, Fraggle-sized or not. As much as he really wanted to kill the Clark Kent wannabe, having him be with Buffy while his sire was here was too sweet to pass up.   
  


 

Sliding down the blanket, he landing lightly on the bed then walked around to the back of the dollhouse. Using the chair he'd stuck out earlier, he re-entered and walked through the dining doorway to the kitchen. "The Slayer's got a date," he said gleefully, picking up a pint-sized cup and dipping it in the container of blood   
  


 

"Do you want me to scream and rage or brood and cry?" Angel asked before sipping on his own cup of blood.   
  


 

"You could at least do  _something_ ," Spike scowled. "You act as though you could care less that another bloke has a leg up on your woman."   
  


 

"That's just it, Spike," Angel said. "She's not 'my woman' anymore." He set down his cup and picked one of the gift books up off of the pile, then retreated to the living room.   
  


 

"Well that was no bloody fun," Spike pouted. He'd hoped to get a rise out of his sire, and all he got was acceptance. Just like he acted when someone mentioned Drusilla to him. With a sigh, he refilled his and Angel's cups, picked out a book, and wandered into the living room.   
  


 

Angel looked up from the book he was not reading as Spike entered the room. The provided lamplight from the transformer was bathing the room in a cheery glow in direct opposition to his dark thoughts. Despite his words to the contrary, he'd be quite happy to go out and skin Riley alive for touching Buffy. But he wouldn't, because it had to be over between them.   
  


 

"'Ere," Spike said, holding out a cup. Angel took it with a questioning lift of his brow, to which the younger vampire shrugged in answer. Spike set his own cup on the floor, then sprawled out on his stomach, chin propped in his hand, and opened the two-inch gift book.   
  


 

"Six, five, four, three...," Angel counted under his non-existent breath, watching his childe. "...Two, one." He grinned when, on cue, Spike's bare feet went up in the air behind him like a little kid. Another second later, the younger vampire hooked one ankle behind the other and began to bounce them slightly. The only thing left to happen was...   
  


 

"'Success is a journey, not a destination -- half the fun is getting there.' That's the bleedin' truth."   
  


 

...Spike quietly reading aloud and commenting to himself on what he read.   
  


 

Many, many nights were spent exactly like this, with Angel reading the newspaper in a chair, searching the society announcements for new hunting prospects, and Spike spread out on the floor in front of him. Or, if it was raining, they'd stay indoors and Angel would read one of the books normally found in the house they 'inherited' from the previous owners. The younger vampire would sit still for roughly ten to fifteen minutes, then he'd be itching to do something else. If it was raining, that something else more than likely did not include clothing.   
  


 

"'One cannot conquer the evil in himself by resisting it...but by transmuting its energies into other forms,'" Spike read quietly to himself. "The energy that expresses itself in the form of evil is the same energy which expresses itself in the form of good; and thus the one may be transmuted into the other.'" He shook his head and turned the page. "Like duh."   
  


 

Angel snorted in laughter at Spike's commentary. The blond looked up at him and he shrugged. "Sorry. You sound like Buffy."   
  


 

"Cor, not that," Spike complained. "It's bad enough that you sound like a bloody American, I don't want to turn into one, too."   
  


 

"Ah, Will, I don't be tinkin' dat be a problem," Angel said, slipping into brogue. Spike stared at him a moment, an unreadable expression on his face. Then he went back to his book without a comment on how bad Angel's accent had become from years of disuse. Confused, he stayed silent, studying the younger vampire.   
  


 

Spike closed his eyes a moment and shoved back those damnable feelings again. Memories pushed their way into his mind, not knowing they were exactly like Angel's had been minutes before. It was the accent that had done it, as bad as it was. He'd been able to pretend things weren't the same until Angel had spoken in Irish brogue. Growling softly to himself, he turned the page in the book and forced himself to read.   
  


 

"'We are injured and hurt emotionally -- not so much by other people or what they say or don't say - but by our own attitude and our own response,'" he read. "Bloody fucking hell, you don't know what the fuck you're talking about!"   
  


 

Spike slammed the book shut and climbed to his feet. He looked at Angel and growled, "I hate you!" Then he stormed out of the room.   
  


 

Angel sat there, stunned by Spike's outburst. "What the  _hell_  was that about?"   
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

**Part Five**

 

 

 

  
  


 

Angel entered the bedroom Spike had claimed as his own, a frown on his face. The blond vampire was half-sitting on the windowsill to the covered-up window, playing with an unlit cigarette. "Spike, would you mind telling me what the hell crawled up your ass and died?" he asked.   
  


 

"Go. Away," Spike said distinctly.   
  


 

"No," Angel said, walking over to Spike and grabbing his shoulder. His plan was to make his childe face him, but he didn't expect a violent reaction.   
  


 

Spike rose off the windowsill as he turned, his fist driving into Angel's jaw. The dark-haired vampire staggered back, surprise evident on his face. Infuriated with his sire's cluelessness and his own behavior, the blond vampire attacked.   
  


 

His left leg shot forward in a snap-kick, pushing Angel further into the center of the room, then he threw himself at his sire. Grabbing him by the shirt-front, he drove a hard punch into Angel's face and went to do it again when the older vampire shoved him away. With a growl, his fist shot out again, aimed at Angel's mid-section. Angel blocked it and threw his own punch, clipping Spike in the jaw.   
  


 

With that hit, old pain and rage exploded in Spike, and his eyes flashed yellow as he let out a loud snarl. He launched himself at Angel, tackling his sire to the ground. Clawing and biting took the place of punches in the animalistic fury that had come over him.   
  


 

Angel fought back, his own face morphing to that of his demon, and the dollhouse was filled with the sounds of two wild creatures of the night holding nothing back. Clothing was torn, skin was ripped in to and the scent of blood permeated the air as the hurt and anger that had been a part of Spike for so long was finally coming out.   
  


 

Angel eventually got the upper hand and pinned Spike to the bloodied carpeting. His knee was pressed hard in his childe's lower back and Spike's arm was pulled up behind him at a sharp angle. His elbow was digging into the back of the younger vampire's neck, holding him face down on the floor.   
  


 

For a moment, silence descended upon the room, and it left an uneasy feeling in the pit of Angel's stomach. He was furiously trying to think of something to dispel the quiet when something else did.   
  


 

The sound of crying.   
  


 

Angel released Spike and sat back on his heels, a confused expression on his human face. He had expected Spike to move the second he let go, but the younger vampire continued to lay face down on the floor. Tentatively, he reached out his hand and placed it on Spike's back. "Spike?"   
  


 

"I hate you," Spike responded. He put his hands under him and pushed himself to his feet. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, his blue eyes reflecting years of buried hurt.   
  


 

Angel rose to his feet as well. "I know you hate me, Spike," he said. "But all I can do is say that I'm sorry about the things I did when I didn't have a soul-"   
  


 

"Damn you stupid bloody bastard!" Spike interrupted, his voice cracking from the tears. "Don't you fucking get it?!"   
  


 

"You hate me," Angel said, confused. "I don't know why el-"   
  


 

"I HATE YOU BECAUSE I FUCKING LOVED YOU!!!"   
  


 

The silence that fell onto the room again was deafening. Angel was shocked. He stared at Spike with wide eyes, oblivious to the blood trickling down the side of his face. Neither of them moved as the seconds slowly ticked past. Finally, Spike started to speak, his voice harsh and full of hurt.   
  


 

"You were my everything, Angelus," he said, not caring about his tears. "For fifty fucking years, you were my friend and my partner and my lover and my teacher. Then you found Drusilla and cast me aside like rubbish."   
  


 

"Spike, without my soul, I couldn't love-" Angel started.   
  


 

"Bollocks!" Spike exclaimed. "That. Is. Fucking. Bollocks." He poked Angel's chest hard with each word. "I am just as much of a demon as you, and so was Drusilla and so was Darla, and don't you dare try to fucking tell me that neither of them loved you."   
  


 

"You're right," Angel said quietly after a moment.   
  


 

"I am?" Spike said, then scowled. "Bloody well right I am."   
  


 

Angel turned and walked over to the bed, then sat down. "I hate to tell you this, Spike, but without my soul, I'm an uncaring asshole."   
  


 

"You'll get no argument from me," Spike agreed.   
  


 

The dark-haired vampire sighed and shook his head. Emotions may be running high, but the vampire standing halfway across the room was still Spike. "I'm sorry if I hurt you."   
  


 

"Like you bloody care," Spike said, rubbing his bloodied hand across his face to wipe away his tears.   
  


 

"That's the idiotic thing, I do care," Angel told him. "Do you know how much I've been thinking about us in the past these last two nights?"   
  


 

"Do I look like a mind-reader?" Spike replied.   
  


 

Angel stood and walked back over to Spike. "Well, the answer is a lot. From you laying on the floor reading, to hunting together, to waking up with you curled against me." He lifted his hand and went to touch the blond's face, but Spike flinched back. "Hold still. You have blood on your cheek."   
  


 

"I would say 'duh', but then you'd accuse me of becoming too blo-" The younger vampire's words were cut off when Angel leaned forward and pressed his lips to Spike's.   
  


 

It was a simple kiss. Only a gentle meeting of two mouths for a brief second. Angel then stepped away, his hand dropping to his side. "For what it's worth, I thought of you as my equal," he said quietly, then turned and left the room.   
  


 

*****

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Angel raised his head from the book he was reading at the quiet knock on the doorframe. He had retreated to the bedroom he'd taken for himself after bandaging his wounds from the small amount of supplies Buffy had prepared for them. She probably figured they would come to blows and would be smug in knowing she had been correct.   
  


 

"Could you...," Spike trailed off, shifting from one bare foot to the other, said bandages in his hands.   
  


 

"Sure," Angel replied, closing the book and setting it down on the floor. Spike walked over and gingerly sat down on the edge of the bed. "Hurt?"   
  


 

"Yeah," Spike replied, handing him the bandages. "I didn't know sheep had such sharp teeth."   
  


 

"Oh, I'm a sheep now, am I?" Angel said, gently wiping at the healing wounds on his childe's bare back. "What's that make you? A cow?"   
  


 

"Ha bloody ha," he replied.   
  


 

Angel patched up Spike's back in silence, then instructed, "Turn around." When he did, the dark-haired vampire shook his head, eyeing the cross-work of bites and scratches, some right up under Spike's neck. "This isn't going to work. Lie down."   
  


 

Spike arched his brow. "Are you propositioning me?"   
  


 

"Just lie down," Angel scowled, standing. Spike laid back on the tiny pillows and he sat back down on the edge of the bed. Carefully, he began to swab the wounds once again.   
  


 

"Angelus?"   
  


 

Angel cocked his head at the use of his full name, looking at Spike in question. "Yeah, Spike?"   
  


 

"What's it like having a soul?" Spike asked, staring up at the ceiling.   
  


 

"It...well...sucks," Angel replied. Spike looked at him in surprise. "Not that I want it to be gone," he quickly amended. "But it's a lot of guilt to be carrying around. Sometimes I just want to go out and watch the sun rise if it'll make the bad memories stop."   
  


 

"Why don't you?" Spike said, curious.   
  


 

"Been there, done that, it snowed," Angel answered. At the blond's confused look, he added, "Don't ask." He tilted Spike's chin up to get at the cuts along his neck. "Having a soul wouldn't be that bad if there wasn't that damned happiness clause attached."   
  


 

"If it wasn't for that friggin' thing, you'd still be between the Slayer's legs and Dru an' me would be happily ever afterin' it," Spike said.   
  


 

"Only if we didn't kill you," he replied with a smirk.   
  


 

"Like that would have ever happened," Spike smirked back. "We were your family."   
  


 

"I killed Darla," Angel said. "I would have had no problems in killing you or Drusilla."   
  


 

Spike held out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Pinocchio."   
  


 

Angel rolled his eyes and a half-smile crossed his lips. "I don't see why I'm not killing you right now for that pathetic joke."   
  


 

"You like me," Spike replied with a cocky grin.   
  


 

"I'll let you in on a little secret, Spike," Angel said. "Nobody likes you."   
  


 

"Aah! You stake me with your words," Spike clutched his chest dramatically.   
  


 

"Did your mother drop you on your head when you were a baby?" Angel asked, watching his theatrics.   
  


 

"Drop-kicked me, maybe," he replied. "But not dropped that I know of."   
  


 

"Just checking," Angel said. "Now, hold still, or I'll tie you to the bed."   
  


 

"Promise?" Spike said.   
  


 

With that word, the teasing atmosphere changed. Angel met Spike's eyes, his hand hovering over the other vampire's pale chest, and he asked in a low voice, "Do you want me to?"   
  


 

Spike pushed himself up on one arm, never breaking eye-contact as his other hand went around Angel's neck. Saying nothing, he let his eyes fall shut as he pressed his lips to his sire's. Just one more time, he wanted to feel what it was like to kiss the man who had been the most important person in his life.   
  


 

Slowly, his coaxed Angel's tongue to play with his, savoring the taste of blood from feeding earlier. His hand wove into his sire's hair and he felt Angel cup the back of his head as well, holding Spike to him. The scent of arousal began to fill the room along with that scent unique to each of the males.   
  


 

Spike broke away as unhurriedly as the kiss had been. Angel met his gaze with a question and invitation in his own, but he shook his head. "We hate each other, remember?" Spike said quietly, his lips curling up.   
  


 

"I never hated you, Spike," Angel told him. "I may have wanted to stake you to a cross at times, but I never hated you."   
  


 

The blond vampire chuckled, releasing Angel to lay back on the bed. "Finish up, Nurse. I'm knackered and want to go to bed."   
  


 

Angel shook his head and returned to bandaging. By the time he was done, Spike was sound asleep. Gathering up the excess supplies, he stood to make his way out of the room, but paused at the doorway. He turned and looked back at the sleeping vampire on the bed for a moment, then said quietly, "I could easily love you now, though." 

 

 

 

  
  


 

 **Part Six**  

 

 

 

  
  


 

"So, do you think this'll work?" Spike asked Angel.   
  


 

Angel shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."   
  


 

Standing on the bed after Buffy had removed the dollhouse, the two six-inch vampires were awaiting Giles to begin. They had redressed in their own clothing, which was only slightly the worse for wear, and both hoped that they would be back to normal in a few minutes.   
  


 

"Swell, then we're going to be stuck like this forever."   
  


 

"Look on the bright side," Angel said. "Buffy does have a lot of flies on her windowsill."   
  


 

"Buffy, if you would please back up," Giles instructed, setting the box carefully on its side next to the vampires. Buffy nodded and stepped away from the bed, holding a thin rope which ran from the lid of the box to her hand. Giles stepped back as well, then said, "When you're ready."   
  


 

Buffy pulled on the rope until the box opened, and a reddish light engulfed both Angel and Spike. Giles chanted something loudly, and the light turned a blinding blue, causing the Slayer and her Watcher to close their eyes.   
  


 

When they opened them again, a full-sized Angel and Spike were standing on the bed.   
  


 

Spike whooped, jumped off the bed, grabbed Buffy and planted a big kiss on her cheek. "Thanks, luv!"   
  


 

"Oh god, I have Spike cooties," Buffy said, pretending to gag.   
  


 

"'Oh no, not Spike cooties!'" Spike exclaimed in a falsetto voice, tickling her. Buffy screeched and ran out of the room, the blond vampire right on her tail, yelling, "My cooties have fangs and they vant to suck your blood!"   
  


 

Angel climbed off the bed, shaking his head. "Is that how they always act?" he asked Giles.   
  


 

"No," Giles told him, moving to close the box and wrap the rope around it. "They're usually worse."   
  


 

"I feel for you," Angel said. "I've put up with Spike's juvenile antics for close to a hundred years. But to have two of them..."   
  


 

"Yes, well, I-I have taken out a rather large life insurance policy on myself," Giles said. Angel gave him a questioning look. "Those two are bound to drive me into an early grave. When they all get together, I bring out the shovel, just in case."   
  


 

The two walked downstairs and joined Buffy and Spike outside. The blond vampire was smoking a cigarette as the Slayer gestured animatedly as she spoke.   
  


 

"...and we went to that new coffee place over by campus. You know, the one with the baby trees?" Buffy was saying.   
  


 

"I think those are called Banzai trees, pet," Spike commented.   
  


 

"Banzai, baby, Mr. Miyagi doesn't care," Buffy replied. She spotted Giles and Angel. "Right Giles?"   
  


 

"Er...yes. What?" Giles said.   
  


 

"Never mind," Buffy said. She looked at Angel. "So I guess now that you're big again, you're going back to LA?"   
  


 

Angel nodded. "As soon as I find that relic," he answered.   
  


 

"Spike will help you," Buffy said. "Again."   
  


 

"I will?" Spike asked, giving her a wide-eyed look.   
  


 

"You will," she replied.   
  


 

"Bloody hell, luv. It's bad enough I had to miss the Simpson's marathon, now you're going to make me miss the bleedin' Underdog one, too?" Spike whined.   
  


 

"Bye Spike, bye Angel," Buffy said purposely, then turned to Giles. "Let's go, Giles. I don't want to miss any of that marathon."   
  


 

Giles smiled wanly at Angel, then allowed Buffy to drag him to his car. Within a minute, the ancient Citrogen was trudging down the street, coughing and sputtering every few feet.   
  


 

"Come on, you tosser," Spike said to Angel. "And try not to get us shrunk this time."   
  


 

" _Me_  get us shrunk?" Angel said, falling into step with his chide. "I seem to recall it was  _you_  who opened the box."   
  


 

"Yeah, but if you didn't come back to Sunnyhell, I wouldn't have even found the friggin' box," Spike retorted. "Therefore, we wouldn't have been shrunk to a bloody six inches tall."   
  


 

"You weren't six inches tall," Angel told him with a smirk. "You were only five and a half."   
  


 

"Angel?"   
  


 

"What?"   
  


 

"Sod off." 

 

 

 

  
  


 

**End**


End file.
